


Spirals

by BlindtoDreams



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-09 04:00:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlindtoDreams/pseuds/BlindtoDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem with routine is a problem of security. Once your habits have been learned, they are easily tampered with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spirals

**Author's Note:**

> My prompt call: One Pairing, One Word.   
> Prompt: John/Moriarty, "Spirals."

“I’ve been a naughty boy,” insidious and needling, an invisible voice from above him. John is still trying, in his hopeless, noble way, to resist.

“But, I suppose you’ve already figured that out, haven’t you?” Moriarty’s voice, affected and prim, a cirrus cloud, trickled down in bits and pieces over John, who writhed against the carpet and tried to focus on his face. It was no use. It wouldn’t sit still. He wasn’t Jim Moriarty, like this. He was vibration and light, a pulse of electricity. He was spirals, expanding, reaching, rotting.

“Haven’t you?,” he asked again, now curious and genuine. He absorbed the sight of John’s contortions as if with pity. “Maybe you haven’t. Maybe you’re being too stubborn.”

Moriarty knelt to one knee and reached for John’s face, holding it still with all five fingers. “I’ve drugged you, you funny thing. Stop fighting. It isn’t going to work.”

Sound and reply were suddenly visual things; John could work them together from deep inside, paint with them, draw sounds out of himself in the face of Moriarty’s pleasure. Only one made it out intact - “How?”

Moriarty pretended to be scandalized. He released John’s jaw to cover his own mouth, a pinup, a tease. “Shh, shh. No fun telling secrets. You’ll feel good in a little while, Mr. Watson. Then you’ll feel very, very bad. Once that happens, you won’t even be able to see me. I wonder what I’ll have done by the time you come home again? I wonder. I do wonder.”

He left John to surrender where he’d fallen, in spasm, muscles tensed as if he could push the drug’s influence out of his body. Moriarty knew better. He helped himself to a chair by the fire, a viewer’s chair - he wanted to watch.

John lost sight of him eventually. The energy it took to worry about what Moriarty might do if he lost consciousness was too much to sustain. He left him unsupervised, smiling in Sherlock’s chair, which became another spiral.  It became another, and another, until the spirals were everything, and he coasted on them out of the room.


End file.
